A Warmth, A Light, A Power
by paperwar
Summary: Natsume's still not very good at sharing burdens, but Tanuma and Taki are learning how to take some of the weight anyway.


"Everybody wants something, that's all," Natsume said, rubbing his eyes as he slumped on the hallway floor, looking as if he wasn't going to be able to get back up in time for the next class.

Tanuma's eyebrows shot up. Lately Natsume was worn down. As if each night over the past two years that a youkai interrupted his sleep had taken its toll all at once. And today he seemed so tired. So faded. Tanuma had immediately asked what was wrong, only to be met with this uncharacteristic cynicism.

"Is it... the book?" Tanuma's voice was pitched low. "Or Kai?" The mountain god had invited Natsume, as well as Taki and Tanuma, to visit. But in the end it had just been Natsume: Tanuma had spent most of last week in bed with a cold, and Taki had a family event out of town.

"Well..." Natsume yawned. "Kai sends his greetings," he said, breaking off to yawn again. "It was really fun to see him again. And his mountain is beautiful. Except..."

Tanuma waited a moment. "Except?"

"Some of the neighbors don't seem too pleased to have Kai around. When he came down here, they thought he was gone permanently."

"Oh, so they wanted to take over?" The idea of Natsume spending the weekend with hostile youkai strong enough to challenge Kai was unnerving, and Tanuma suspected the timing of their power play wasn't coincidental.

"Something like that," Natsume said, avoiding Tanuma's gaze. "It was better that you and Taki weren't in the middle of it."

"But that was last weekend," Tanuma persisted. "Is there something else going on?"

Natsume winced. "I've had a lot of visitors since then."

"For their names? Or something else?"

"Both." Natsume tipped his head back against the wall and shut his eyes.

The more names Natsume returned, and the more youkai he helped, the more youkai sought him out. Whatever Natsume did to assist Kai must've been spectacular, sure to boost his reputation, and his appeal, even further. No wonder he was practically sleepwalking his way through school right now.

Tanuma was under no illusions that he would hear more details from Natsume anytime soon, but he was gratified to receive even this much of the story. It had been a delicate thing, he knew, that Natsume had explained about the book at all. He struggled daily not to feel hurt that Natsume was still hiding things from him (the book, exorcists: Tanuma didn't imagine this was everything). Secrets spun out into other secrets. Concealment and misdirection became a habit difficult to break. Tanuma understood. Being around Natsume was an exercise in trying to indulge this while also trying to draw him out, a little at a time. Because if they were friends, it had to happen. He just didn't want to frighten Natsume off by being too clumsy about it.

Tanuma had been mostly alone for a long time; there was his father, of course, but the rest of the world tended to stretch far and lonely past him, past the days he spent ill in bed, past the boy who was just odd enough that people avoided him without thinking much about it. Friendship was an unsettling state to find himself in. Sometimes his only reassurance was knowing that this was foreign territory for Natsume as well.

Anxiety prickled at Tanuma, seeing how very weary Natsume was, drooping there on the floor. No one could do what he did; there were others who had great spiritual power, but none of them had the Book of Friends. And none of them, as far as Tanuma could tell, should have the book. The possession of it complicated Natsume's life enormously, but Tanuma agreed: it was the only decent thing to do. Which meant Natsume deserved all the help Tanuma could give him - however little that turned out to be.

"Why don't you go home?" Tanuma suggested. He touched Natsume's shoulder; it felt hot, even through the shirt. "You're falling asleep right there. Tell them you're sick. Or I'll tell them you're sick and had to leave."

Natsume's smile was genuine, but lackluster, as if he truly didn't have the energy to raise his lips. "I'm okay," he said. "School will be over soon."

Tanuma frowned. "And then what? Giving more names back?"

Natsume stood up slowly. "I'd want my name back, too."

"You're right. But I wish..." Tanuma set his jaw and caught Natsume's eye. "I wish it were easier on you. Or that... that I could help you more." He scuffed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

Natsume stretched his arms up and exhaled sharply. "You help a lot," he said, and that worn smile unfolded over his face again, like smoothing out a crumpled piece of paper. He stepped carefully past and a moment later he was gone.

He had to be lying again. Not intentionally, not maliciously (nothing Natsume did was malicious, ever). But what did Tanuma do? Half-see things, half-hear things; feel a prickle, wonder if that shiver was the touch of invisible eyes.

Another day at school, another visibly exhausted Natsume in the hallway, sitting under the window. Tanuma leaned against the wall next to him.

"If I," Tanuma started. It felt like he was physically dragging the words out from some hidden place within himself. Clearing his throat, he tried again: "If I asked you for help, would you think I was weak? Or bad?"

"Of course not! If you need help you should ask."

Tanuma closed his eyes for a moment. "So then why do you try to never take anyone else's help?"

"That's not true!" The force of Natsume's denial, and his glare, made Tanuma flinch. In a voice just above a whisper, Natsume said, "Sometimes I think I need too much help. Besides," he continued, in a firmer tone, "the task of returning the names falls to me. It was something my grandmother left unfinished. It's my duty."

Tanuma sighed. "Natsume," he said, fiddling with a loose thread on his shirt sleeve, "you've shown me the book. There are a lot of names there. And you said you've already returned so many."

He looked at Natsume again, closer this time, noting the bags under his eyes, the way he curled in on himself on the floor, head on his knees, arms tucked around them. Like Natsume was trying to hold himself together. As if the lock of his arms was the only thing preventing him from dissolving, scattering into the air.

"You'd be doing me a favor," Tanuma said, and the way Natsume looked up, sudden and sharp, gave him courage. "Letting me help, I mean. Do you think it's easy for me to see you like this? So worn down you're almost asleep as you talk to me? Do you think Taki likes it? Or Nishimura? Kitamoto?" He threw his hand out to catch Natsume, who was shifting and straightening, as if he was going to leave. Or perhaps he was just trying to make himself look less exhausted.

"I'm sorry to make you worry," Natsume said gravely, and this time his smile was forced. "I'm fine, really."

Tanuma clenched a fist, and dropped it when he saw that Natsume noticed. "The answer isn't to hide things more," he said, feeling sick. "Please don't do that." He dropped down into a squat. Natsume shrank away.

"I'm your friend, right?" Tanuma said. He didn't think Natsume would deny it, but his stomach twisted for the second it took Natsume to nod, face flushed and eyes down.

"Good," Tanuma said. "Because that's what friends do. We worry. We help each other." How did you explain friendship to someone who'd never really had it? Especially if you'd never really had it either? He'd certainly never had a conversation like this before, like being lost in the forest at night. The right path was there; there was always a right path, if only you could see it through the thick clouds hiding the moon, if only you could take the first right step.

"You're not a burden," Tanuma said fiercely. "It's more troublesome having to worry about what you're hiding, to be honest." Natsume was pulling back again. _Careful_, Tanuma told himself, and edged away.

"I-I have to go," Natsume said, struggling to his feet. Tanuma, abandoning patience, grabbed his wrist. They stared at each other.

"I can't say this any more clearly." _No stopping it now_, Tanuma thought as his face grew hot. "Please let me help you. Please let all of us help you."

Natsume's face matched Tanuma's in color as he snatched his hand back and covered his face; when he turned back to Tanuma, his eyes were bright. "Thank you," he said. "I'll... try." His voice was gentle and polite and Tanuma had no idea how much he meant it.

He stood up, Tanuma making no move to obstruct him. With a sad little smile, he headed back to his classroom.

Tanuma watched him go, chin resting on one elbow, feeling like he'd been outmaneuvered somehow.

Tanuma once heard that spirits were more active on summer nights. _Like humans_, he'd thought at the time. _We like warmth and spending time under the stars with our friends as well. _

The season had lingered; though they were well into the time when summer should have deferred politely to autumn, the temperatures remained warm. Everyone was sleepy in the stuffy classrooms.

And then, suddenly, irrevocably, like a glass knocked off a table, it was autumn. Not cold, not yet, but there was an edge to the air, and traces of other, more vivid colors on the green leaves.

The spirits might give Natsume a little more rest now. Maybe in this, too, they weren't so different from humans. Did they also like to slow down and stay cozy during the cold, dark months?

A week went by, full of wind-tousled hair and the faintest of shivers on the way to school. The sun blazed: light but not much heat. "Picnic," Tanuma said to Natsume on Friday as they were leaving school.

Natsume blinked at him.

"This weekend," Tanuma clarified. "Before it gets too cold, wouldn't you like to have one last picnic outside?"

Natsume didn't say anything.

"Why don't we go tomorrow afternoon?" Tanuma persisted.

_How can he still look at me as if I'm going to yell at him? Or as if he's waiting for me to say it's all a joke? _It made Tanuma's chest ache. Maybe it was just Natsume's fatigue that gave his face that uncertain look.

After another moment, Natsume said at last, "Okay. What time?"

The next day the sun was dimmer, as if it were tired. Taki was already there when he arrived at Natsume's house. Touko-san plied them with drinks and food, while Natsume protested that he didn't want to leave her with all the chores. She shooed him away. "You need a break," she said. "You look so tired lately." Turning to Taki and Tanuma, she pressed a few more snacks into their hands while telling them, "Make sure he gets lots of fresh air!"

As they were putting on their shoes, Nyanko-sensei pushed his way between Natsume's legs to greet the others. "What's this?" the cat said. Heedless of the way Taki's lips were twitching, he wound his way around both of them, sniffing at their bags. "Are there prawns in there?" he asked, raising a paw to investigate.

Taki's bag thumped to the floor as she swooped him up, rubbing her face in his fur. "There better be some prawns," he grumbled from within her arms.

And so they were on their way. It had rained a couple of days ago, and yesterday had been drier but with lingering shreds of cloud. Today, all that had vanished; there was a breeze, almost chilly but not quite, that had blown the sky a new-washed, sharp blue. Tanuma suggested they hike out to the dam, but a certain melancholy around Natsume's eyes made him retract the idea without asking any questions. Nyanko-sensei chose that moment to make a noisy, awkward dash after a squirrel; Taki cooed and clapped her hands, as he must have known she would, and the moment passed.

Taki proposed heading for a stand of trees she said was especially striking in autumn. "It's probably too early," she admitted, "but it's the sort of thing you don't mind coming back to look at again." The trees in question were still almost entirely green, as she suspected, but it was a tranquil, lovely spot anyway. They shook out their picnic blanket and settled in to eat, taking it in turns to dangle bits of food at Nyanko-sensei, a game which he tolerated with surprising grace.

Natsume seemed to unbend. His bearing had a perpetual tension, but now it eased, just a bit, to Tanuma's eyes. And Taki had a deck of cards. Natsume had never played before – of course, Tanuma realized, who would've played with him? – but picked up the basics quickly. He seemed to like Daifugo the best, so they played several rounds. Tanuma lost every single one. He wasn't trying to, either; but it made Natsume laugh, so he didn't care.

After that, they reclined and watched the sky. There weren't any clouds to speak of, but there were birds. Natsume was probably seeing other things as well. Tanuma hoped they wouldn't notice Natsume. Or if they did, they would leave him in peace. _Just one day,_ Tanuma thought. _Please_. "Ponta," he whispered, "you're not going to let anyone interrupt us, right?" The cat merely gave him an amused look.

They chatted a little about school, mostly the various youkai Natsume had encountered around the building. Taki was surprised at how easy it was to persuade some of the other students that nothing was going on; Nishimura in particular seemed happy to believe whatever flimsy excuse they offered. Tanuma countered that Nishimura had other things on his mind: he'd been overheard weighing universities based on where there were the most girls.

"Oh, stop," Taki said. "Talking about graduation is too depressing. I certainly don't know what I'm going to do." _Expecting to die and then finding yourself alive must take some getting used to_, Tanuma thought.

Natsume sighed, shoulders hunched. "I'm going to find a job, somehow."

"Never mind that, Natsume," Taki said, waving a hand. "What would you do right now?" she asked. "If you could do anything."

Natsume gave a short, startled laugh. "I don't know." He paused. "I'd sit here, in the sun, with my friends." He bit his lip.

Taki beamed. "That's what I'd do too. And Tanuma?" He nodded.

"Well, isn't it lucky that we're here then?" she said.

They fell into comfortable silence, punctuated by an occasional squeak or a chirrup as some forest animal called to another; the leaves trembled in the wind.

Tanuma sat up and ripped open the last of the potato chips. Taki gestured at him to stop crinkling the bag; the sound was surprisingly loud. She pointed at Natsume: eyes closed, mouth open, hands on his stomach. His feet were hidden by a smug-looking Sensei.

"Good," Tanuma whispered. He and Taki settled back to watch over Natsume as he slept.


End file.
